Now Josie looked out across the wide expanse of headstones. They seemed to stretch on and on like whitecaps on a gentle ocean. All these people had died, and all these people had been given funerals. It helps the living deal with death, she had wanted to tell Tyler when they buried the bird; it helps them control the uncontrollable. But now she wasn’t so sure. How had it helped her? She had seen Matthew covered in earth, had helped rain handfuls of rose petals down on his coffin, and what had it done for her? Nothing. She was still who she was, twisting out from that moment like a spiraling helix.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BY THE TIME THEY ARRIVED AT THE HOUSE, JOSIE HAD FINISHED the second miniature of vodka and made Natalie stop off at the liquor store for two more. There were a number of cars in the driveway, and a valet took Natalie’s car and gave her a ticket.

“Only the best for my mom,” Josie said.

Natalie put her hand on Josie’s shoulder and steered her into the entryway. Josie’s father was standing beneath the front stairs shaking hands and receiving hugs, but when he saw Josie come in, he called for her. “Honey,” he said, and pulled her gently into a back hallway. He rested his cheek on her head and embraced her. She could feel his fingertips on her lower back. She flinched and tried to pull gently away, but he held her.

“I love you,” he said, and clutched her tightly.

“I love you too,” she said, and squirmed uncomfortably.

“And your mother loved you.”

She jerked forcefully away and had to take a step back to keep her balance.

“Josie.”

She had wounded him, and her stomach twitched.

“She did, Josie. She loved you very much.”

She knew she should just nod and stay silent, but his inability to see made her angry. “Whatever you want to believe,” she said.

“It’s true,” he said.

She could see the tears forming in his eyes, and for a moment, Josie wished he could see whatever her mother saw every time she looked at her. The thought scared her, and she closed her eyes and remembered something she had read a long, long time ago in an encyclopedia of African culture: If the correct funeral rites were observed, the deceased would not come back to trouble the living.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she said. “I’m going to get us a drink.”

“I don’t want anything,” her father said.

“I’m getting you some coffee then.”